Well, I was in a band,
we were scheduled to appear
At a little roadhouse called
the Get Down Here
A cinder block building with
a hand -painted sign
Honk her down,
straddle in the county line
When the crowd rolled in
and were remarkably mixed
There were truckers, bikers, drifters
and locals from the sticks
Each one meaner than a cougar in a cage
And the biggest one
swaggered right up to the stage
Said we heard everybody
from David Allen Coe
to Chuck Berry singing
gold Johnny Goldo
He's got an autographed picture
of Elvis on the shelf
So tell me boy what you
gotta say for yourself
I let the guitar do the talking
Yeah the whole place started rockin'
My fingertips they weren't stoppin'
And that big bad dude started boppin'
No need to fuss
Stop squawkin'
And they just let the guitar do the talkin'
Well, cause a woman like
that's heard every line
And I never have been the
silver -tongued kind
But I knew that I had me one good chance
Of getting that girl to dance
So I cranked up my amp
and let the guitar do the talking
Yeah, the whole place started rockin'
The fingertips, weren't stoppin'
And that pretty little thing started boppin'
No need to fuss, it stops quackin'
Just let the guitar do the
talking
In a world of too many words
Sometimes your point is hard to get heard
But I think I've figured out a way
Of getting mine on through
I just strap it on, tune it up, dig it in,
the whole power on, count it off,
open up my heart and soul
And let the guitar do the talkin'
Yeah, the whole place started
rockin'
Fingertips that weren't stoppin'
And everybody started boppin'
No need to fuss, stop squawkin'
Just let the guitar do the talkin'